


a baby bird's lullaby

by holy_smokes



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Ben's death is mentioned, Clumsy Teenage Seduction, Degrading Language, Femmephobia, Fluff and Angst, Homophobia, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Non-Consensual Spanking, Protective Diego Hargreeves, Public Humiliation, References to Drugs, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Resilient Klaus, Teenage!Umbrella Kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-23 22:03:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18558766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holy_smokes/pseuds/holy_smokes
Summary: Klaus is always testing his Father's boundaries and Reginald decides it's time to make sure Number Four knows his place. Klaus is courting his feelings for Diego despite it being forbidden.





	a baby bird's lullaby

**Author's Note:**

> What is happening, how come I have so much motivation to write right now?! Wild times. I just cannot resist Klaus whump. Anyway, this is relatively miserable, but maybe, just maybe, there's hope, y'all?! 
> 
> Get in ya feelings, why not?!

 

Klaus is pushing his luck.

It’s what he does best, flamboyant and unapologetic, when his Father isn’t lurking nearby with a walking stick he’s happy to whack around the back of Klaus’s knees or the cruel words that fall out of his lips and leave a stain on the inside of Klaus's brain.

Reginald carries a handkerchief, white with pale yellow polka dots which Klaus sees up close more than most. If their Father spies Klaus in mascara or lipgloss, he’ll wet it with the nearest liquid to hand - sometimes his own saliva, if needs be - and grab Klaus by the back of the neck, smearing it off as his student wriggles in his grip, irritated but not stupid enough to fight.

His so-called siblings look on in horror, amusement and fear. 

Klaus doesn’t blame them for remaining quiet.  


 

**  
  


Reginald, Mr. Hargreeves, Sir, _Father_. His eyes,  sharp and cold and all-knowing, narrow when Klaus swishes through into a room. He’s always looking for his least favorite to trip up. Klaus is nearly seventeen and by now he could swear his Father gets some perverse form of enjoyment out of bringing his Number Four to heel.

Ben died four months ago, his body too frail, the monster inside of him finally overpowered by some fucked up ecstasy Klaus had bought off a man twice his age who fought his way in between Klaus’s legs and dry-humped him until he came all over the teenager’s thigh. Klaus didn’t fight as he was backed into a corner of an alleyway. He listened to the birds singing, watching them fly above him, _free_. The dealer’s mouth was hot and wet on his neck as he grunted in Klaus’s ear but the birds sang anyway and they were louder than him. 

Klaus smiled, enjoying their little song, eyes fluttering shut, which his new friend took as a sign to pant  _ you dirty little whore, you like it, slut? _ and that was enough, apparently. Klaus had the white, gloopy stain on his pants to know it was enough.

  
**

Ben’s demise has given Reginald even more ammunition and Klaus helps him load the gun, feeding him bullet after bullet with his determination to just  _ be _ . He steals lipsticks, skirts and he flirts clumsily with Diego, enjoying the way Number Two blushes if Klaus runs a hand over his shoulder and tells him how  _ strong _ he looks, how training is doing him the world of good.

Klaus makes a deal of wanting to grow his curls out after reading comments online from anonymous, faceless men as he scours Umbrella Academy articles. 

_ I want to stroke Number Four’s curls _

_ Seance is growing into a real cute twink  _

_ No 4 on hands and knees as i fuck his ass and grab his hair ;P _

Reginald sends Grace to retrieve Klaus for his monthly tidy up, knowing Klaus won’t fight his Mom. Klaus cries and begs her to let him be but Reginald isn’t a fool. Grace may be programmed to be a caring Mother but she’s _his_ creation and obedient to him. The old man installs locks on Allison’s bedroom door and threatens Number Three with isolation should she forget to lock up. Klaus takes to raiding Vanya’s wardrobe, disappointed to only find flannel and jeans. 

He meets the eyes of his Father every morning, hating how Reginald is always the winner in this battle, how he looks at Klaus with pity. 

_ You’ll never outsmart me, son _ .

Klaus won’t be kept down. After Ben, no child is allowed outdoors without an adult companion. The rule is implemented and Klaus feels the tension in the room creep uncomfortably high as their Father announces it, the resentment from his siblings fueled by Reginald’s willingness to blame Klaus still simmering, close to the boil.

Blame it on cabin fever or blame it on the way Diego’s always snatching quick, hungry glances at Klaus - blame it on what you will, but he’s sneaking into Number Two’s room after lights out, dressed in a pale mint green negligee dress. It boasts spaghetti straps and a cute knee length; a little something he managed to keep under his pillow after stealing it many moons ago.

“Klaus!” Diego hisses, outraged by his brother’s presence as he scrambles to sit upright, “get  _ out. _ ”

Klaus dances forward, fingers grabbing his little dress delicately, hitching it up to reveal more thigh.

“Don’t you want a cuddle, Diego?” he asks, blinking coquettishly. 

“Get  _ out _ ,” Diego insists. His brother looks terrified but his voice is breaking, becoming softer. Klaus pouts comically, changing tack, inviting himself onto the edge of Diego’s bed and crawling up, so sure he can force Number Two to agree to this life of sin with him.

“Please, Diego,” he whispers, hoping he looks like all these anonymous men say he does -  _ pretty, fuckable _ \- “you’ll feel so good. Like a _man_. You can do whatever you want to me,” he winks. He’s heard girls say that before at the conventions and he’s watched porn from the days before, when they were allowed outside, before the ban.

Diego looks at him like Reginald does, with pity. It hits Klaus like a bucket of ice cold water.

Neither boy can say anything else because their Father is storming into the room, yanking Klaus away by the neck, unperturbed by his squeals of annoyance, the way he flails. He can’t unmatch the alien strength of Reginald, catching a glimpse of Diego’s fearful face, before he’s thrown back into his own bed. His heart is racing and he’s waiting for the slap on the back of his knees, light-headed and sure he’s about to vomit when the old man grabs his neck again, thin lips against Klaus’s ear.

“You will not doing any further damage to this family, Number Four. You will be punished tomorrow,” he promises, before shaking Klaus like he’s a dusty blanket, leaving him sore and in flight mode.

Klaus sleeps with the ghosts.  
  


**  
  


Once again, Reginald’s ahead. Klaus is skittish, looking for his next move, eating his pancakes slowly in case there’s some kind of razor blade hidden in them. He’s wary of Allison, which only amuses his sister, unsure whether the ancient billionaire is about to weaponize her powers against him. He trains with his siblings, half enjoying the way Diego won’t meet his eye as he tackles him, but also afraid that his brother will have been pumped with poison and is about to break his arm.

The day passes with ease. Klaus should have known Reginald would drag out the suspense.

The clock chimes seven o’clock but instead of being directed to the dining hall, all siblings - bar the dead and the escaped - are marched to the main hall. It could be beautiful, but this is the home of Mr. Hargreeves, and therefore it has the ambiance of a mortuary. Klaus likes the chandelier and the large window which allows them to gaze upon the city. He’s always loved peering out of it, imagining the lives of the people he sees, wondering what it would be like to be someone else. 

Reginald gestures for the doors behind the line up to be closed, Grace and Pogo acting accordingly.

“Children,” his booming voice bouncing off the walls, “we have a pressing problem to address.”

Klaus’s shirt collar feels tight around his neck, his mouth dry. Still, there’s no point getting ahead of himself. He doesn’t want Father to see his fear.

“Number Four, step forward,” he demands. Klaus obeys, walking carefully towards him. He’s going to be beaten in front of his siblings and he’s ok with it, looking at that damn stick. At least the violence will make him _feel_.

“Bend over the table,” Reginald instructs, pointing to the large oak table that dominates the room. Klaus blinks, unsure if he heard his Father correctly.

“Excuse me, Sir?” he checks.

“Bend over the table,” Reginald repeats, slower, as if Klaus is a very stupid child. 

He sees the glee in Reginald’s eyes and it makes him recoil in disgust. A beating is one thing, but this? His skin feels itchy, the feeling of shame starting to insist on making itself known, stomach rolling unpleasantly as he teeters towards the table. He’s waiting for Grace to step in until the logical part of his brain reminds him she’s Reginald’s handmade doll come to life. She isn’t going to stop this.

The only saving grace is that Klaus can’t see his siblings.

Hot with embarrassment, he places his hands in front of him and lowers his small body over the table. It’s rather tall, strong oak legs keeping it higher than it needs to be and Klaus finds he’s almost on tiptoes. He braces himself for the stick across his backside, listening to Reginald’s foot steps.

“Number Four continues to drag the name of this Academy down to his level,” he hears their Father inform the others, “not satisfied with being a perverted, murderous whore, he wants to ensure the rest of you are as useless and worthless as he is.”

The air leaves Klaus’s lungs, tears springing to his eyes. 

_ That’s not fair, Dad, please, don’t say that _ , he begs silently, devastated.

“Number Two, you will inform your siblings of what Number Four did to you last night,” Reginald continues. Klaus bites his lip, fighting the urge to spring back, to defend himself, heart sinking as he hears his brother stutter “wh-wh-what he d-did, Dad?”

“Spit it out, Number Two!” Reginald demands, tightly controlled emotions beginning to crack. 

_ It’s ok, Diego, it’s ok,  _ Klaus thinks, as if his silent thoughts have any power.

“Um, he… he c-c-came into my bedroom. I think… he… he w-wanted something. I don’t know,” Diego tries, he _tries_ , Klaus picturing the way Diego will be searching for Mom, needing her guidance.

“Number Four was dressed in a slut’s dress attempting to force Number Two into sexual intercourse,” Reginald fills in the gaps, wrong as always, but Diego’s soft “ _ n-no _ ,” is ignored. Klaus can only imagine the faces of their siblings, including Allison’s bristling fury at the description of the dress. 

“Number Seven,” Reginald continues, surprising everyone at addressing their unmagical sister, “you will assist. Stand in front of your brother, opposite side of the table.”

Klaus is itching to look up, to see what’s happening, but he relies on his ears. He listens as Vanya walks around, bristling as Reginald reaches forward and forces his arms to be outstretched.

“Hold them,” he tells Vanya, “and do not let him go, Seven, not under any circumstances. Do I make myself clear, child?”

“Yes, sir,” Vanya’s meek little voice confirms. 

Klaus is tempted to spit out something about being bored, _get on with it, old timer,_ when his Father bears down on his body and reaches to unzip his pants. Like a cat thrown in water, Klaus screams, fighting Vanya’s surprising strength and the heavy weight of Reginald’s hand on the small of his back.

“Don’t touch me!” Klaus wails, losing all sense of dignity, Vanya’s grip steel like, his Father’s bruising hand keeping him down, “stop, don’t, get off me, you fucking _pervert_!”

Reginald’s smart and he lets Klaus tire himself out before he resumes, pulling his pants and underwear down to his knees as Klaus’s shock turns into hot fear, heavy sobs. Klaus now knows why he picked Vanya and not Luther. Not only does it give his attention-starved sister a role to play for the first time in her life but it’s set to further humiliate him, being held down by someone so ordinary. The air on his ass, the fact he knows his siblings are behind him, watching this unfold, make him unable to stop his noisy crying.

“Any further foul language from you, Number Four, and this punishment will seem like a picnic in comparison to what I do next,” his Father’s icy tone cuts through his tears, rendering Klaus desperate to try and hold it together. 

“Now,” Reginald addresses the rest of the household, “Number Four will take twenty spankings. Ten by my hand and ten by a cane. Does anyone object to this?”

It’s a dare, a cruel dare, a dare that Klaus hopes none of them are daft enough to try. He won’t allow this man to install hate in him. He won’t blame them. 

“Good,” Reginald says, Klaus can hear the smile in his voice, “and you will count your spankings, boy,” he warns an exposed Klaus, still halfheartedly wriggling into Seven’s grip. He’s determined to be silent, to not give Reginald the satisfaction, taking the first blow with a soft whimper and a broken count of “one”, but it’s difficult to keep up.

By eight, he’s sobbing, voice breaking, but he daren’t forget to count. His Father’s hand is brutal, slapping down on his flesh and making it burn, yet the worse isn’t over as he shakily counts ten.

Deathly silence, all but Klaus’s whimpers, sobs and breathy, broken counting; Reginald truly wants Klaus to have all his senses heightened during this humiliation, he realizes. Their Father wants him to lose all sense of dignity, to repent who he is, Klaus shuddering as he feels the threat of the cane loosely resting on his exposed backside.

“This will hurt, boy,” Reginald says, voice lighter than usual, enjoying making a spectacle of Klaus. 

Klaus screams bloody murder.

Reginald waits, an almost kind act, giving Klaus a chance to compose himself as he sobs, begging out loud,  _ please, Dad, please, no more _ \- to no avail - before he eventually gives in.

“One.”

  
**  
  


The old man must give Vanya a sign because she lets Klaus go and he falls to the floor after counting his tenth caning, weak, in agony, still sobbing like a baby. He’s vaguely aware of footsteps, people leaving, crying into the leg of the table, wrapping his arms around it for some semblance of comfort. 

“Let this be a very clear lesson,” Reginald springs out of nowhere, making Klaus whimper, his nails digging into Klaus’s bony shoulders, “that you keep your delinquent behavior to yourself. Do you understand, Number Four?”

“Y-yeah,” Klaus gasps, arching his back to try and get away from the feel of his Father behind him,  _ disgusted _ , embarrassed.

“Grace will tend to your wounds,” he mutters, clicking his fingers to order her over.

Klaus slaps a hand over his mouth as fresh tears force him to double over. Reginald doesn’t deserve to hear them.

 

**

 

Limping to his bedroom after an hour or so of Grace’s kind, tender treatment, cleaning his wounds and ensuring they won’t get infected, Klaus can’t deny he doesn’t feel defeated. Reginald is and always will be the winner, the hero of the battlefield, but what he doesn’t know - or doesn’t care about - is that his subjects only follow him because they’re scared. 

Klaus doesn’t have the strength to be resilient today.

“Hey, Klaus?”

He’s almost there, so lost in his head that he didn't see Diego open his door. His brother, tall like him, impossibly handsome, full of righteous anger and so much insecurity, walks towards him but keeps his distance. His eyes flicker across the ceiling, trying to find the cameras that Reginald so obviously has installed.

Klaus stops, humiliation forcing his eyes to the ground. 

“Klaus, I’m sorry,” Diego begs, whispering, making sure there’s a respectable distance between them, “I didn’t want him to hurt you.”   


Klaus nods curtly, curling in on himself. Diego is kind and brave, two things Klaus will never be.

“I should have stopped him,” his brother laments, forcing Klaus to make brief, awkward eye contact as he quickly puts out that fire of self doubt, “no, Diego, you couldn’t stop it. Don’t blame yourself.”

They pause, both lost for words.

“We tried not to watch,” Diego whispers conspiratorially, “we didn’t really - look - at you. He couldn’t see our faces, Klaus. You’re our brother.”

Klaus bites down on his lip to stop it from wobbling.

“You’re my - ” a dangerous step closer, warm hand on Klaus’s waist - “I don’t know. You’re special to me. I wish I could have protected you,” he whispers, far too close now and Klaus is seconds away from turning in, nuzzling him, soaking up Diego’s protective love when Diego squeezes him gently and steps back.

He’s gone, so Klaus limps into his room, tears in his eyes but an undeniable feeling of something else sizzling inside of him, fighting to repair Reginald’s cancerous insistence on Klaus being hideous, poisonous, unloving and unlovable.

Digging his nails into the windowsill, he stares out at the city, their city,  _ his _ city. One day he’ll be free and he’ll take Diego with him. Closing his eyes, he listens to the sound of the birds on the top of the house singing their sweet, bright song.

 

**

 


End file.
